Ryan. Ryan. Ryan.
Evangeline had repeated the name to herself so many times now that it no longer made sense. She wondered what the W on the cuff links stood for, but she didn’t dare ask. If she knew his full name, she might be tempted to look him up later in another moment of weakness.
Not happening.
She grabbed the quilt off the end of the bed, wrapped it around herself and shook her head. “You don’t want my number.”
A muscle flicked in his jaw. “I’m certain I do.”
“No.” She shook her head even harder. “You don’t.”
If he knew the first thing about her situation, he’d run for the hills. She wouldn’t blame him in the slightest.
“Then I must be an idiot,” he said.
Did he have to be so charming? He probably couldn’t help it. It was probably part of his genetic makeup, like the abs. And the voice. And the fathomless blue of his eyes.
Evangeline had never seen eyes quite so blue.
She averted her gaze from them.
“Honestly, you don’t need to do this. Everything’s fine. I’m fine. This was—” Just what I needed. She swallowed around the lump that had formed in her throat, seemingly out of nowhere “—fun.”
“Fun,” he echoed.
The word sounded oddly hollow, and Evangeline instantly wanted to take it back. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from telling him the whole truth—that she was lost; she’d been lost for a very long time and that the real reason she never did this sort of thing was because it scared the life out of her.
Intimacy, in all its forms, involved a level of vulnerability that she couldn’t quite handle. She thought Jeremy had understood that about her. Wrong again.
“Here you go, then.” She bent to retrieve his abandoned shirt and trousers and handed them to him. When his fingertips brushed against hers, the lump in her throat doubled in size.
Leave. Please, leave.
He climbed out of the bed and started to get dressed. Thank goodness.
She glanced at the floor, where Olive and Bee were still sound asleep on top of Ryan’s suit jacket. Olive’s paws twitched. She was chasing rabbits in her sleep again.
Evangeline tugged gently on the wool Armani, trying her hardest to slip it out from beneath the sleeping dogs unnoticed. Like the old magician’s tablecloth trick.
No such luck. Bee was completely deaf, therefore extremely sensitive to movement. She woke with a start, pawing at Evangeline’s shins. Olive let out a squeaky dog yawn and hopped onto the bed, where she stood and stared at Ryan while he zipped up his pants.
He glanced up, spotted Olive watching him and then reached to scratch behind her ears.
“Pet her from the left side. She can’t see out of her right eye, so you might startle her,” Evangeline said.
He followed her advice. The little Cavalier’s tail wagged furiously. Bee scrambled up onto the bed to join in the fun.
“Sweet dogs,” Ryan said, and Evangeline’s heart gave a little tug.
He somehow managed to look even more attractive, surrounded by adorable dogs. Because of course.
“Thank you. They technically belong to my grandfather, but he recently moved into an extended care facility, so they live here now.” Why was she telling him this?
“I’m sorry to hear that.” His voice went as soft as velvet, like he really meant it.
If he didn’t leave soon, she’d probably offer to cook him breakfast.
“Here.” She shoved his suit jacket at him. Every inch of it was covered in dog hair.
He pretended not to notice and slid it on, anyway. And that small act of kindness was almost more than she could bear. Maybe last night hadn’t been a mistake after all. Maybe the mistake was happening right now.
Maybe she shouldn’t be in such a hurry to let him go.
“Goodbye, then,” she said in as firm a voice as she could manage.
He came around the bed, and when he was an arm’s length away, he lifted his hand as if to cup her face. She took a tiny backward step.
His hand fell to his side. “Goodbye, Eve.”
And then he was gone.
* * *
Ryan Wilde stood outside Eve’s apartment and watched as the door shut in his face.
Well, he thought, that was different.
He’d never been so summarily tossed out of a woman’s bed before. Then again, he typically didn’t make a habit out of bedding women he didn’t actually know.
Especially lately.
Ryan’s love life had been rather complicated in recent weeks, thanks to the New York Times. He’d been doing his best to avoid romantic entanglements altogether.
He walked down the hall, making his way to the building’s front steps and pulled his cell phone from the inside pocket of his suit jacket—which looked more like a fur coat at the moment—and rang the Bennington Hotel’s driver.
The chauffeur answered on the first ring. “Mr. Wilde, how can I help you?”
Ryan didn’t often take advantage of the more luxurious perks that came with being chief financial officer of the Bennington, but having a driver on standby was nice at a time like this. He glanced up and down the picturesque street. The sun was just coming up, bathing the neighborhood brownstones in soft winter hues of violet and blue. The snowy sidewalks were empty, save for an older man opening up the newsstand on the corner. “Are you free to come pick me up in the Village?”
He was, of course. Who needed a limo this time of day?
Ryan gave the driver his location, then pocketed his phone again. He rubbed his hands together. His breath was a visible puff of vapor in the crisp air. What the hell had he done with his coat?
He lifted his gaze to the row of windows on the third floor, trying to guess which one was Eve’s. He wished he’d left his Burberry trench up there so he’d have a legitimate excuse to see her again, but he hadn’t. He’d left it on the back of a chair at the wine bar the night before—forgotten, completely—right around the time he’d spotted Eve across the room, brandishing a butcher knife.
It had been one of the most bizarre things he’d ever seen. She’d grabbed a bottle of champagne and before he’d been able to process what he was seeing, she severed the neck of the bottle with the knife. Sliced it clean off, just below the cork. It made a loud popping sound, and she’d stood there with a quiet smile on her face while bubbles spilled down her arm. The group of people at her table cheered. All men, he’d noticed.
She wasn’t on a date, though, from what he could tell. The table was piled with note cards, as if they were some kind of study group.
Note cards. In the middle of a wine bar on Friday night.
“That was quite the party trick,” Ryan had said after he’d abandoned his coat, his drink and the trio of business associates he’d been meeting with.
He’d had to talk to her. Had to.
For the better part of a week, he’d been avoiding every marriage-minded single woman in Manhattan. But the knife-wielding goddess had gotten under his skin instantly. He wasn’t even sure why.
Yes, she was pretty. More